Escape from Alcatraz
by Krikr
Summary: For the last time, the plane flew off the roof of the prison.


They were on the Golden Gate Bridge once again, yet this time, their bodies were resting on the island.

Looking at his hands, Albert had to admit that being a ghost didn't surprise him as much as it had been when he had looked at his body from outside of it for the first time.

Except that, if the guard (who wasn't dead, who they hadn't killed at all)'s logs were to be believed, it hadn't been the first time at all and they had been ghosts the whole time.

Like in a dream (except that it was a dream. Or wasn't, depending on what you thought of the afterlife), Albert made his way to the familiar chairs in which he could now remember having sat on for at least three times (except it had been more than that, way more than that, he remembered) this night. He wasn't surprised at all to see their bodies waiting for them, seated in the electric chairs, strapped to it except for his own (Because he hadn't died on the electric chair, he hadn't been sentenced to it and the three others had been).

Like numerous times this night (and probably even more that he couldn't remember yet), he entered his body again. And next to him, the three others did the same.

For the last time this night, Albert Arlington woke up on the Golden Gate Bridge.

He wasn't surprised either to have his weapons at his feet when he saw them.

The now all too familiar cries of the undead were heard and they corpses were soon seen climbing on their part of the bridge by the four mobsters. But, bar Arlington, none of them were looking at the walking dead. The dead were near when he saw Sal and Billy pointing their guns at him while telling Finn to hold the undead off.

He couldn't focus on both the zombies and his former partners so he began to run. To his surprise, the zombies ignored him this time and charged at the three other. If Finn, Billy and Sal didn't think he was responsible for putting them all here before, they certainly did now.

"What the fuck?" said Billy before starting to shoot at the undead

Trying to talk them out of killing him wouldn't work. It hadn't when it had just been the plane proving itself inadequate to fly and, if he understood things correctly, that was why they were here in the first place.  
So he aimed at his former partners and pulled the trigger.

For the next five minutes, the air was filled with bullets, rays and other projectiles while Albert tried to kill his former associates and they were trying to kill him, persuaded that once the Weasel would be dead again they would be free. The undead were falling all around them, helping the weasel for a reason he himself didn't know.

Then, Billy felt the Weasel's tomahawk pass through his left arm. With a loud cry of "Fuck!" he aimed at him, set on making him pay for that wound and for putting them all through hell. But the wound had been enough to slow him down and an undead lunged at him. He could feel the barbed wire that was all over the dead body press against him, starting to draw blood. He pushed this one away, only for it to be replaced by three new ones. He was the first to fall.

Finn was second. Hearing Billy's cry, he turned to look at him, forgetting for a moment that he was too running from the dead. That proved fatal, as Brutus was charging at him and sent him to the ground in one swing of his club. He tried to get up, only for the guard's boot to press against his back and for Brutus to swing his club again, this time, at his head.

Having seen his two henchmen's death, Sal looked for Weasel. He couldn't fight all hose undead and, if he killed the conman, who seemed to be the center of all of this, everything would be over. As he ran around a pile of metal, he felt the Weasel's elbow hit his face, shortly followed by the barrel of the shotgun they had found into the Warden's office and that had been the first to go into the strange "Pack-a-Punch" machine.  
For a split second, they were both looking at each other.  
Then Albert pulled the trigger.

Immediately, each and every undead burst into flames just like when they had used that strange, floating, bomb. Except for Brutus, who simply disappeared.

Alone on the bridge, Albert looked at the electric chairs before turning and walking toward the pile of materials that blocked the way to San Francisco. When he put his hand on it, wondering if he could climb it, he felt it vibrate like the doors they had in the prison did before they opened them. He pushed and the pile disappeared with a lightning bolt. Albert walked toward the town.

He wasn't surprised to see no one outside, no lights on any widows, or the streets completely empty of cars. That he was in a ghost town seemed oddly appropriate.

Amidst all the grey of the town, his eye was caught by a bright red candy machine. After what he had been through, he considered having earned one. He put a quarter into the machine and took the gum. "Meeting with the Doc." was written on it. He bit it.

Another flash of light that didn't look like lightning environed him.

Strangely, while he eyes were open, he couldn't make anything out of where he was or who was the man who began talking to him.

"Well, Albert. I must say it took you long enough to get here."

"Where am I? Who are you?"

"I'm Dr. Monty. As for where you are… I'll answer later. For now I think you could rest a bit. You earned it."


End file.
